ad patres
by gimmickpuppets
Summary: After Haruto's death, Kaito has to cope with the aftermath. Kaito seeks solace in Chris, not knowing where else he can go when his own family brings him no comfort.


Standing near the edge of near madness, it takes nearly all of Kaito's strength not to let his hands shake while he folds Haruto's clothes and carefully lays them in boxes as if the garments themselves would stir if jostled too white noise of the loft feels hot and uncomfortable - all too loud and hauntingly reminiscent of medical rooms he'd once lived in, emptying his stomach into metal trays and asking his father, "Am I strong enough now?" before the blackouts rolled over his consciousness. He wonders, for the enth time that day, if it was gentle. Was he in pain?  
Kaito's hands slip and he grips the rim of the cardboard box until his nails leaves half-moons on the surface. His knees feel gelatinous at the joints and the agony pounds out a loud rhythm behind his ribs. No matter how much he wishes and no matter how hard he prays to a god he's long since stopped believing in the simple, devastating truth remains:

Haruto is dead.

Kaito tries to compose himself, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if it might stop the grief from crawling into his mind like it does so often in his waking hours. Sleep would be a relief, but it escapes him night after night in the form of nightmares and waking in a cold sweat. Agony - so often masked under the guise of anger, had wilted into long instances of silence and muttering helplessly into a bottle (as if it would talk back - as if he wanted it to). All of these things added up to one simple conclusion:  
He was falling apart.  
And it wasn't as if he'd never been there before - hanging on by his fingertips struggling to pull himself back up - it was that he'd never been there without Haruto to guide him back up to his feet. Everything had been for him. Everything... ever since they were young; since the moment he'd held his little brother for the first time.

_I was supposed to protect you._

There was blame to place and Kaito placed it all on Faker. How dare he! How dare he use his own son like a weapon! To use Haruto... to bring him to such a fragile state.  
Things were supposed to be better but instead they'd collapsed in on themselves and now, well, now there was only this. There was only the fabric of his clothes piled in boxes and a stuffed bear holding a heart-shaped pillow nestled solemnly on top, as if waiting for small hands to hold it again. A gift from their mother… A gift from the hospital (back then… it feels like it's been a lifetime and yet -) before Kaito could have even thought for a moment he would walk through this hell.

All that was left was _this._

Kaito finished packing the boxes and he moves them near the door to be picked up later, taking only a few precious belongings in a smaller bag while he makes his way out of their - no, Faker's home. His stomach clenches at the sight of his father (calling him that leaves a bad taste in his mouth) near the door.  
There's no word between them as Kaito loads up his car and reaches around Faker to grab his last bag.

"I did all that I could."

"Don't you fucking start," hisses Kaito. "This is all your fault. You didn't try to save him, you used him like some sort of weapon." He grabs Faker's collar and without any hesitation his slams him back against the outside wall, eyes hot with tears while he glares up at the man he's so unfortunate enough to share blood with.  
"Don't call me. Don't talk to me. Don't tell anyone you loved him because you didn't! You are not my father! You were never his, either!"

Kaito releases his hold and steps back before any more words can be said and he drives off. He doesn't look back. He doesn't care what man stands in the rearview mirror because in the end he's the reason Haruto is gone.  
His knuckles turn white. Tears land against the leather and it's the first time Kaito truly cries, pulled over on the side of the road with his knees drawn up and his palms over his eyes.

It doesn't make him feel any better. His nose is plugged and his eyes are red and nothing is different in the end. People keep telling him crying will make the healing process easier but there is no healing from this event in which he's lost his soul.  
He's a skeleton moving aimlessly through the motions of living without knowing what a heartbeat is. And it's not that he has no resolve to live he simply has nothing to live for. The only thing he could even do right… the first promise he'd ever truly made…

_I'll always protect you. I won't ever let any harm come to you._

Kaito asks himself where he can go.

There's only one answer that comes to mind and it's the last place he feels like he has the right to visit. And yet… yet there's no comfort anywhere else. Kaito drives to the only place that even resembles home, and not because it's a place of warmth and comfort but because at least there when he feels weak the arms waiting will not be those of a father who'd in the end, killed both his children.

_This body is weak. It won't be long until I'm in the ground._

The fit of laughter that comes after the tears at the thought of his own death is bitter and edged with resentment and a near tone of madness. Grief is a horribly consuming emotion, after all.  
For all that he tries to deny, it hits him again that no matter how many times he closes his eyes this is never going to be a dream. The image of Haruto cold in his arms while the monitor goes flat will be burned into every thought and every dream - no, every nightmare - and it's something he can never run from no matter how hard he tries to escape it. The subconscious ticking of his own life clock resounds throughout him in the form of Haruto's ragged breathing. The days aren't measured in seconds but pained, labouring gasps for air. What Kaito wouldn't give to have melting clocks and the classic image of death wandering his dreams, scythe in one hand while the other skeletal fingers beckon him close and ever closer.  
Instead, death to him is the image of Haruto standing in the bright doorway wearing a split smile that unhinges his upper and lower jaws, tongue hanging obscenely while maggots and other insects crawl through torn, rotting patches of skin. He wetly lurches forward with cracks and a stiff gait, covered with mud and clotted blood while screaming that Kaito has betrayed him. It's right as he shrieks and rushes forward that Kaito wakes with a start and grabs for his throat, thinking he can still smell the decay. Faker's concern brought only anger and no comfort to him after such disturbing rests.

(When he's lucky, he doesn't dream at all.)

_"You were screaming in your sleep."_

_"Get the fuck out!"_

It's been two weeks. There is still no closure.  
Kaito wishes it would hurry up. He wishes it would wrap itself up in neat little bow before it drove him beyond the point of saving grace and a grasp on reality and a sense of self. He's already slipping. He's been slipping for a long time.  
Kaito can't feel his fingertips. He's been grasping the steering wheel too hard and it hurts his hands. Kaito rests his cheek against the leather and stares out the window with his eyes fixed on the front doors of Chris's apartment, smiling weakly to himself as he goes over what to say.

_'Hey Chris. Guess what, my brother is dead and I hate my father and my life is in shambles can you tell me not to worry can you tell me not to care?'_

His eyes falls shut. Two deep breaths, one more for good measure…  
Pathetic. He is beyond pathetic.

Chris had given him a spare key after their last meeting, curling his fingers over Kaito's and quietly telling him he always had somewhere to go if he needed it.  
_"I know he's sick… I know you're trying. Faker can't be much help so don't hesitate to visit."_  
Kaito'd spent days at Haruto's death bed wondering if he should call Chris and ask him to sit with him. But what right did he have to pull Chris away from the warmth of his family that was coming back together to ask him to mourn with him - mourn over a child he'd only ever known to stare ahead and whisper for more and more screams. To Chris… it must have looked like an image of sadness, Kaito always trying to coax him… making promises and trying to get a smile out of him.

Chris owed him nothing, and pity wasn't something Kaito liked.

Apartment C-5. Cute.  
Kaito's lips twitch upward and he knocks slowly, each one vibrating through his body. He almost hopes Chris isn't home, yet as soon as he thinks it, the lock clicks and the door opens. Chris leans against the doorway, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back while he dries the plate in his hand. The expression on his face tells Kaito all he needs to know. Chris has been waiting for him.

"Christopher."

"It's worse than I thought." Kaito's look of confusion prompts the following response of, "You don't call me Christopher unless you're stressed. Come in. I'll make coffee." The interaction is so simple that it's jarring in contrast to everything that's happened in the past few days. Chris is an image of kindness and all he's done is offer him a coffee and a place to sit. It's more than he deserves, really, especially given how he's been thinking about himself since the funeral. Since those days watching Haruto waste away.  
It's his fault and yet Chris acts like he's a child to be sat down and comforted.

"Hot chocolate, actually… If you have some." Kaito tugs at his collar and undoes the top two buttons to account for the heat in the apartment as he looks around. Chris has been cooking, it's obvious from the slight humidity and the smell of steak spice and boiled potatoes in the air.  
"Cooking a feast?"

"Thomas was supposed to come over but he's going to be too busy with his newest, ehm, squeeze," he says while waving his hand in some general upward direction. Kaito stares at his back while he moves around the kitchen and brings the pot on the stove to a boil. "Good luck for me that you showed up. I only wish the circumstances were better."

"I thought of calling earlier -"

"You didn't call at all. But I wouldn't have either, if it were Mihael or Thomas. It's a private matter." Chris sets a mug down and pours the chocolate mix into the pot, adding cream and what smells like a caramel syrup (the smell makes a wet heat burn behind his eyes) while he stirs. "I attended the service. It was beautiful."

"I saw you. I wasn't in much of a talking mood."

"Heard you weren't at the reception."

"Funerals are for the living. And I had no business with who was left living." Kaito stares down at the table while he pulls the chair out to finally sit. "Everything I love is gone."

"Don't… say that, it's right out of those movies you hate. 'Everything I love is gone', are you trying to be melodramatic because it's certainly working." Chris places the hot mug in front of Kaito and takes a seat across the table from him, frowning from over his own cup.  
"I know this isn't easy but -"

"No, you don't know!"  
Kaito slams his hand down on the table and curls his fingers into a tight fist over the wood. "You don't fucking know, Chris, because you never had to lose anyone!" He stands in his anger and leans forward on his palms. "When did you ever lose someone?"

"My mother."

Kaito stops, then, looking over at Chris in shock. It's not as if he didn't know, but to hear Chris voice it so… so simply stuns him into silence. "But you didn't have to protect her."

"No, but I had to be a parent to two little boys. Two brothers who held my hand asking me why Mommy was in a wooden box. Why wasn't Mommy coming home. Thomas was still having nightmares by the time I had to send him away so don't tell me what I have and have not lost. You haven't earned the right to lecture me, Kaito." Chris remains sitting, eyes on Kaito the entire time.  
"You haven't earned the right to tell me everything is gone."

Kaito stares in shock before he sits down slowly and uncurls his fists. "It's different."

"Death as a part if being human. That doesn't make it hurt less or make it any better but you're not the only one who's felt this way. Take comfort in that. Others have survived and so can you." Chris reaches across the table to rest a hand over Kaito's and he sighs. "There's something more, isn't there?"

"I need someone to mourn him. Someone who isn't Faker."

Kaito turns his palm upward in Chris's grasp to weave their fingers together. The hot tears he'd been holding back escape in a painful wave and Kaito wants to scream.  
All he can do is swallow a sob.

"No one will miss him. No one but me."

"There's Yuma. Kotori. Ryoga. I'll miss him, Kaito. The world will. But you -"

"No one knew him. Everyone knew his sickness and what it made him but he... he was..." Kaito presses his palm over his eyes and tries to even out his breathing. "He was more than that." He squeezes Chris's hand again and takes in a few laboured breaths. "He was my reason to fight. He was what kept me going even when my body was failing. I had a purpose -"

"Is living one day after the next not enough for you? Do you have to be needed this way? Kaito, you can survive because his end it not yours!"

"Haruto was the only thing that mattered!"

"You should matter to you!"

They're both standing now, Kaito's mug overturned and hot chocolate dripping over the far corner of the table. Their hands remain grasped, each one squeezing hard until the tension lessens enough for Chris to move around the table and pull Kaito close.  
And just like that, in the circle of Chris's arms, the loss slams into Kaito's chest at full force. All the times he'd held Haruto close to him, rubbing his back and promising him that it would be okay. The moments where he would tell Haruto how loved he was and though Haruto rarely answered he knew every word was returned. For all the screams he wanted, Kaito gave twice as many night spent wrapped in blankets and telling stories and giving him the love that Faker never had.  
Kaito falls apart in Chris's arms, in the embrace of someone who loves him as he loved his brother. He sobs into Chris's chest, fists balled tight into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to pull away and draw closer all at once. His knees feel gelatinous, his head throbs… Chris is warm _(he's always been warm, he's always been…)_, Chris is solid _(he's been…. he's...)_, Chris is everything Kaito can't be in that moment while he's sobbing like a child.

_(Chris has always been there.)_  
Because Chris gives him a reason. Chris reminds him that his purpose is himself.

His broken sobs and screams turn to weak hiccups and he gives into the weight of his body, slumping against Chris and letting him lower them onto the polished floor, still wet with their spilled drinks.  
"I'm so sorry," he mutters into the fabric. "I'm gross."

"I wouldn't say gross, but…" Chris rests his chin on the top of Kaito's head and sighs. "How do you feel?"

Kaito blinks his sore eyes and takes in a deep breath. "...Better than I have in days," he mutters. "My chest doesn't hurt."  
He presses his face into Chris's shoulder again and releases a shuddering sigh. "Now what?"

"Now you heal."

Kaito shuts his eyes again and nods slowly. Heal…  
It's a start.


End file.
